


Are we not all dying stars

by euromagpie



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Beyond, Xenopolycythemia, bullshit medics, oh i dont know also a bunch of background characters i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8311606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euromagpie/pseuds/euromagpie
Summary: Oh yeah, we're gonna go there - the AOS version of 'Bones gets xenopolycythemia' (and ain't that a bitch to type). Oh there's also another fiddly plot about disappearing spaceships but that's all a bit TL;DR innit?So, uh, let's hope I get around to actually finishing this fic.





	

_Captain’s log, stardate 2264.215.We are now three months into our resumed 5 year mission, and I feel like I’m finally getting used to our new lady. She’s not the same, but she sails like a beauty, and she certainly gives Scotty less grief than her predecessor. We’ve just returned from a brief stop at Metis II, to drop of medical supplies. We continue our mission of exploration, and all is quiet for the moment, although Mister Spock tells me that we should exercise caution in this area of space – he says about half a century ago, the USS Attenborough went missing around here, the cause still remaining unknown. He also seemed to put a strange emphasis on the ‘caution’ part of his advice. I am hurt. It is as though my First Officer does not trust my ability to exercise discretion and restraint._

 

*

 

Kirk sniggered as he entered the log. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Uhura glance at him, then the ensign beside her, before shrugging and turning back to the screen. He yawned and stretched, flexing his legs and feet before him. The movement seemed to startle Chekov, who hastily perked up from his slumped position and fiddled absently with a knob on the console. Kirk didn’t blame him for his zoning out – for all of Spock’s warnings, they hadn’t encountered as much as an asteroid for the few days they had spent in this part of space. The viewscreen displayed a huge amount of nothing with a touch of desolation and a dash of emptiness. It seemed like the stillness outside had infiltrated the bridge, creating a silent, almost foggy atmosphere inside. No wonder people were falling asleep at their post.

He considered asking Spock to run a scan, to seek out _anything_ interesting, when his comm. bleeped.

_“McCoy to Kirk.”_

“Kirk here, what can I do for you, Bones?”

Maybe his friend had something exciting to show him. Oh, he loved being captain of a starship, but after weeks and weeks of doing nothing more adventurous than switching from semi-skimmed to whole milk in his coffee, Kirk thought he deserved a break. Scotty probably half-blew his arm off again and Bones would need him to give the man a stern dressing down (although how seriously Scotty took Kirk’s dressing downs was debatable. Last time he’d cancelled the man’s shoreleave as punishment, but apparently Scotty had had a jolly good time monopolising the replicators and catching up on his engineering journals).

_“Jim, you, ah, can you come down to Sickbay?”_

Immediately, Kirk straightened in his seat. He looked up at his First Officer and was greeted to a curious, arched eyebrow. Spock had noted the uncharacteristic hesitancy in Bones’ voice as well. Usually, he only got so reluctant when it was either Spock or Kirk himself who was laid up on a biobed at death’s door. Since Bones was obviously well enough to make comm. calls, Kirk really wasn’t sure what could be so urgent.

_“Oh, and you might as well bring your walking PADD, save me some breath.”_

Now Kirk was really worried. Apparently he wasn’t the only one, as he saw Sulu shoot a look at Chekov, who returned it while chewing on his lip. Uhura seemed to have stilled at her station, concentrating less on her research, and more on the captain’s transmission. To be fair, for McCoy to want to see Spock willingly was a momentous occasion.

“Alright, Bones, we’re on our way.” He said, trying to stop his voice from betraying his concern. He swivelled his chair and hopped off, Spock close on his heels to the turbolift.

“Mister Sulu, you have the conn.”

“Aye, sir.”

 

*

 

The ride down to Sickbay was tense; Kirk didn’t feel much like hearing Spock’s odds on any of the dozen alarming scenarios circling his mind, and Spock merely saw no reason in pondering theoretical plots in the first time – in the end, it would change nothing. They simply had to wait until they got there to know the full story.

When the doors to Sickbay slid open, Kirk’s eyes scanned the room, maybe for a dazed Scotty, or alarmed medical personnel. He immediately zeroed in on the figure of Christine Chapel, the normally unflappable nurse, who was now hovering outside the doors to McCoy’s private office, wringing her hands, her eyes keeping on straying to the doors. On the other side of the room, M’Benga was perched on one of the many empty biobeds, brow furrowed and staring into space, a medical PADD laying in his lap. His presence itself was unusual – the Enterprise only having three doctors, McCoy had alpha shift, M’Benga operated on beta shift and Oberon had gamma. At this time, M’Benga should have been asleep. Unless…unless McCoy needed a second opinion – on something serious.

Heart beat thrumming, Kirk hurried through the Sickbay, brushing past Chapel, who seemed to want to say something, and entering the office without knocking. He felt Spock at his shoulder as he stopped to take in the scene.

McCoy was sat at his desk, another medical PADD before him. His back was bowed and his head was in his hands, shoulders slumped. He painted a desolate picture, and Kirk’s heart clenched.

“Bones.” He said, softly.

McCoy looked up, and then sighed, slumping back in his seat and absently waving at two chairs on the other side of the desk.

“Come on in. Y’might wanna sit down, if’n I know you.”

Kirk and Spock took their seats, and Kirk chuckled nervously.

“You okay, Bones? You look like someone died.” He said.

He saw immediately that it was the wrong thing to say. McCoy stiffened, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. Then, he let out a long, deliberate breath, as though bracing himself to give bad news.

“Look, Jim, there’s- A crewman is- urgh, I can’t do this. I’m just going to give it to you straight. Both of ya.” He looked Kirk in the eye.

“I’m dying, Jim.”

 

*

 

Kirk frowned.

“In, like, the metaphysical sense? I mean, I guess you could say we’re all dyin-“

“Cut the crap, kid, you know what I mean. I’m dying, as in, my body is shutting down until my brain ceases to function.”

Kirk just stared at him, looking for any sign in his eyes, in his posture, that this was all a sick joke, as uncharacteristic as that would be. Of course, he could find none, and the beginnings of panic started to creep up on him.

“Bones, you can’t be serious. You look fine, what-“

McCoy groaned, dragging both hands over his face.

“And I’ll continue to be fine, for, oh, about ten months. But you’ll need those ten months to arrange for a new CM-“

“Oi, now hold on a fucking second. You sound like you’re giving up. You haven’t even told us-“

“What is your condition?”

Spock had been silent until now, but his calm voice cut through Kirk’s angry babbling like a keel through water. To anyone else, he would have looked outwardly as calm as ever, but the tightening around his eye and subtle flaring of his nostrils spoke to his own unease. McCoy gave him a self-deprecating smirk; ever since the time they spent on Altamid, their relationship had reached new depths; oh, it was in neither’s nature to give up their prickling clashes or childish snubs, but a strong undercurrent of friendship took the bite out of their insults. Especially after Spock had cornered him just before Kirk’s birthday party at Yorktown…

 

 _“Doctor McCoy.” The serene voice stopped him on the way back to his temporary quarters. All the_ Enterprise _crew had quarters on Ring-07, unless they were headed off the Starbase during their five months downtime. In a strange coincidence, McCoy’s quarters were right beside Spock’s own, exactly like they had been on the_ Enterprise _. He stopped for a moment to let Spock catch up, his shoes echoing slightly on the corridor floor. As soon as he was level, they continued walking, in step with each other._

_“You look god-awful, Spock. Your side giving you any more bother?” He asked, partly just for something to say. Of course, Yorktown had its own staff of very competent Starfleet Medical personnel, but what could he say, McCoy liked to keep tabs on his patients’ recovery – especially if they came in the form of his Captain or First Officer, who had a tendency to ignore things like healing time and fling themselves into the nearest death trap they could find. An irrational surge of anger bubbled up inside of him at the thought of what Spock had dragged him into when they’d had to pilot the enemy ship amongst the Bees. Before he could vocalise another (well deserved, in his humble opinion) complaint about their recent adventure, Spock’s cool voice cut him off again._

_“Doctor, I wish to clarify our previous discussion.”_

_At McCoy’s puzzled look, he elaborated._

_“On the surface of Altamid, when I was attempting to convey the reality of my respect for you. Because you had cut me off, I had assumed you understood my feelings on this matter. However-“ Here he shot McCoy a hard look._

_“-I had obviously been mistaken. Very soon after, you said that you were happy with the fact that I did not respect you.”_

_“Huh, did I? I don’t even remember that. Spock-“_

_“Regardless of your intentions with the comment, I feel it necessary to clarify.” He stopped, forcing McCoy to also halt in the empty corridor. Spock stood in silence for a moment, and to McCoy it almost seemed like Spock was psyching himself up for something, although considering Vulcans couldn’t_ get _nervous, that was obviously not what was happening._

_“Your dedication to your work, both research and the day to day interaction with the crew, is very admirable. Whilst initially I had thought you unsuited for the position of Chief Medical Officer due to your extrusive emotionalism, I was quickly proven wrong – your feelings translated to a strong loyalty towards the crew. In addition, regardless of personal feelings to particular individuals, you stick to your ethics even under extreme duress.”_

_Oh god, McCoy could feel the beginnings of a red flush creep up his neck. Despite his slighter build, Spock could be incredibly intense, especially if all his attention was focussed on one individual. Such as now._

_“Look, Spock, you don’t have to-“_

_“I understand, however, it is important to be honest in your regards to another that you consider a friend.”_

_“You consider me a…friend?”_

_Spock cocked his head slightly to the side at McCoy’s stunned expression._

_“I do. Do you not?”_

_“Well of course I do, I just figured…well, most people don’t realise my ribbing ain’t meant nastily, so…”_

_“I will confess, I found your…colourful language and insults a considerable breach of protocol initially. However, when I approached the cap- Jim, with this, he assured me your ‘bark was worse than your bite’ and that you were attempting to pursue a friendship with me. While I still do not understand why you, as a physician, would attempt to bite someone, when I engaged more in our repartee, I found that you demonstrated a remarkably scientific mind, and even though you defended your own opinions vehemently, you were also able to examine facts from different points of view and thus come up with new, intriguing conclusions.”_

_McCoy blinked, stunned by Spock’s…confession? Praise? Honestly, he was a bit thrown to put a label to the description of him. Mentally, it didn’t really sound like him – in his mind’s eye, McCoy saw himself as a stubborn Old Dog, who refused to learn new tricks, and anxiously threw up if forced to try. To Jim, he probably looked much the same, except he was also a grumpy nanny and a borderline alcoholic with a sailor’s vocabulary. But somehow, knowing that Spock, of all people, though of him like_ that _was, well,_ nice _._

_“Why, Mister Spock, that’s…mighty kind of you, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck, abashed. He wondered whether he was supposed to make a speech back – oh, he could go on and on about the things he admired about the First Officer, and, despite his grumbling, there really were more of those things than things he disliked, but McCoy really wasn’t good at honest praise giving (at least not without delivering it with a hefty dose of sarcasm)._

_Before he had to make a decision to either sacrifice his sense of fairness or sense of self, Spock reached into the bag he was carrying, slung casually over one shoulder. Something rustled and he pulled out a small box – plain, unadorned metal, shaped like a small square about McCoy’s hand’s length, but slim. Spock held it out to him._

_McCoy only hesitated a second before taking it from him. He opened it. Inside the matt black interior lay a plain, coiled chain. Hung from it, laid flat, was a small, circular pendant. McCoy looked up at Spock, who managed to not move a muscle in his face, yet still looked slightly embarrassed._

_“I found this in Ambassador Spock’s belongings he left to me – it belonged to my, to_ his _mother. It, too, contains a fragment of vokaya.”_

_In McCoy’s brain, cogs whirred._

_“Hold on a god-damned second. You’re giving me the alternate version of your girlfriend’s necklace?”_

_Spock shook his head._

_“Nyota and I are no longer in a romantic relationship. I’m merely-“_

_“Look, Spock, I’m not really a jewellery person-“_

_“Of course. I understand if you do not wish to wear it, since, as you have pointed out, it works as a tracking device as well. I simply wanted to give this to you as a symbol of respect.”_

_McCoy’s heart gave a hard thump, and that flush from before restarted its determined march up his face._

_“Shut up, you hobgoblin. I never said I wouldn’t wear it. Just didn’t want ya to waste a part of the Ambassador on me.” He grumbled. He picked the necklace up, thumb rubbing over the metal pendant. He couldn’t see the mineral fragment, but assumed it was embedded in the metal. He was holding a tracking device but, somehow, it didn’t feel like the invasion of privacy he had assumed it would have been to Uhura. Maybe that was why he’d seen Uhura still wearing hers despite Spock and her apparently having broken up. It had a nice weight to it._

_“Regardless of what you choose to do with it, I do not consider this a waste. I believe you will take good care of it.” Spock said it with such a serious face, that McCoy finally lost the battle against his blood, and he blushed hard._

_Taking the box he shoved it back at Spock, who reflexively grabbed it from him. McCoy’s nimble surgeon’s hands made short work of the fiddly clasp, and he draped it around his neck. As the necklace nestled against his collarbone, it didn’t feel awkward, like he thought it would. It barely felt there, but for the slight warmth radiating from it._

_Spock looked at him, and he could have sworn there was a slight upwards twitch of Spock’s mouth, just for a second, before it vanished again. They stood just looking at each other for a moment before McCoy cleared his throat awkwardly._

_“Err, well, thank you, Spock. I’m…glad you, that is…hmm, look, do you want to come to my quarters? I was just about to have dinner.” He invited Spock without even really thinking about it. Spock seemed to be considering it for a moment before shaking his head._

_“No thank you, Doctor. I have some outstanding experiments to attend to at the Ring-11 Laboratories. If you’ll excuse me.”_

_So, with a firm nod, Spock simply turned and walked away, leaving McCoy to stare after him, bowled over by the whole conversation they’d just had._

*

 

“It turned up this morning on a physical scan Chapel insisted on doing on me – I was feeling strangely nauseous. Well, when the results came back, neither of us could really believe it so we called Geoff to get a second opinion and he confirmed it. I’ve got Xenopolycythemia.”

“Hold on, isn’t polycythemia a human blood disease? Don’t we already have a treatment for that?” Kirk asked, confused. McCoy looked annoyed.

“If you’d pay attention to the name, kid, you’d notice there’s a bit of a difference. Anyway, XPC doesn’t really have any proper connection to polycythemia – XPC gets its name from there because the effects are somewhat similar.”

Across from him, Spock steepled his fingers in concentration.

“Perhaps an explanation of the disease might afford us a greater insight as to how to proceed with this.” He suggested. In response, McCoy nudged the PADD across the table. Spock picked it up and started scanning it as McCoy explained the situation, Kirk craning his neck to read over Spock’s shoulder.

“XPC is a very rare disease that occurs when there’s a single alien ancestor in a string of humans, specifically from the family _homo ceruleus sanguinem_ , so Andorians, Aenar etc. In my case, my great-grandmother was an Andorian.”

“Huh.” Kirk muttered in surprise.

“Yeah, ya wouldn’t think it looking at me, huh? Well, blue and red blood really isn’t a great combination, but most people don’t think about it since humans and Andorians can still have children together without difficulty. The first and second generations tend to be alright, but when you get into the third or fourth generations, the DNA mixing gets a bit tricky. See, the more human DNA a person has, the less able they are to tolerate Andorian blood – so if an almost-entirely-human happens to be born with blue blood cells, their body rejects the foreign cells. The body is essentially fighting itself. So great-grandchildren open themselves up to a whole lot of blood complications – ceruaplastic anemia, silaria, or, in my case, XPC.”

Kirk pointed to a line on the PADD.

“Hold on, here it says that ‘ _all known cases of xenopolycythemia, or xenopolycythemia prima, have presented themselves within hours of the patients’ birth_ ’. How can you just suddenly develop it?” He pointed out, with a sort of ‘aha!’ tone in his voice. Like he thought McCoy was somehow making this up.

He shook his head grumpily, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, _I don’t know_ , Jim. I mean, we knew we were at risk of complications, after Donna-, technically, I have the latent gene for the disease, so I guess anything we ran through in the ass-end of space could have triggered it – right now it’s making my marrow try to produce a large quantity of blue blood cells instead of red. Foreign technology, radiation – hell, the transporter could have fucked something up putting me back together. All we know, at the moment is that either a) I have XPC, or b) I have something that’s reading as XPC to all the medical equipment we have on board. Either way, it’s killing me quite thoroughly.”

Kirk slumped back in his seat as a moment of silence stretched between them.

“So that’s it. You’re just giving up. The Doctor’s out, just roll over and di-“

The table rattled as McCoy slammed his hands down. He’d stood up, red in the face, suddenly angry.

“Damnit, Jim! I’m _not_ just giving up, but you _have_ to understand, this isn’t a joke. This isn’t a game. I’m dying, and you have to make some serious decisions about the future of my position. I’m a doctor, not a magician!” His shoulders slumped suddenly, the energy draining out of him. His dark haired head bowed.

“Bones…” Kirk murmured.

Then, Spock too stood, holding the PADD in a clenched hand. Seemingly unaffected, Kirk wasn’t fooled – he saw the veins stand out at the back of his hand as Spock stopped himself crushing the PADD in his fingers.

“After my shift ends I would like to consult with you on some experimental approaches to a treatment.”

“Yeah…yeah, Geoff’s already drawing up some initial plans. Gonna irradiate me first, I think.” He muttered. McCoy lifted his hand, wiping a perfunctory hand over his eyes, before squaring his shoulders.

“Hey Bones, you should-“

“Don’t even try and take me off duty, kid. For the moment, I’m fine. I can, and _will_ do my duty. Alpha shift first, and then Spock and I’ll put our heads together to try and sort this mess out.”

Still obviously worried, Kirk also stood, straightening his golden tunic top. He looked like he wanted to say something, before thinking better of it. Instead, he gave a strong nod to McCoy and turned to leave.

“Hey, Jim-“

Kirk turned.

“I- sorry for dropping this on you outta the blue.”

Instead of answering him, Kirk strode around the desk, pulling McCoy into a tight hug. For a second, McCoy didn’t know what to do, his hands hovering awkwardly over his friend’s back. Eventually, though, he gave in, smoothing his palms over the golden fabric.

“Don’t apologise for this,” Kirk muttered into his science blues, “just fix it, doctor.”

“Alright, Jim. I’ll do my best.”


End file.
